Graduation Day

A/N: ANOTHER ONESHOT... I KNOW, BUT THE IDEA POPPED INTO MY HEAD TONIGHT, SO I SAT DOWN AND LITERALLY WROTE THIS IN LIKE THREE HOURS. I HAVEN'T EVEN READ IT THROUGH SO I HOPE IT'S OKAY.

THIS IS MY FIRST (PUBLISHED) ATTEMPT AT SAM AND DEAN. IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE WAY MORE SAM CENTRIC THAN IT CAME OUT BUT FOR SOME REASON WHEN I STARTED WRITING I FIXATED ON JOHN.

THIS IS MY VERSION OF HOW JOHN FOUND OUT ABOUT STANFORD. I PURPOSELY DIDN'T WRITE THE FULL FIGHT SCENE BECAUSE I DIDN'T THINK I COULD DO IT JUSTICE. HOPE YOU ENJOY :)

CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM IS WELCOME :)

It's four in the morning and he still isn't home. The hotel room is dim, the lamp on the end table in the corner the only light illuminating the room. One of the double beds is occupied, sheets strewn across its occupant haphazardly. He lies on his stomach, his cheek resting on the crook of his elbow under the pillow. The top half of his shirt clad torso is exposed by the thin sheet, as is the lower half of his left leg. He is fast asleep, still, unbothered by the light in the corner.

The other bed has been made in a rush. The covers aren't quite straight, the pillows have been thrown on the bed as it's occupant hurried out the door. A duffel bag sits at the foot of the bed, clothes sloppily folded and packed inside it, some peeking out from the top. It's occupant is not tucked inside, sleeping peacefully. Instead, he sits at the table, a folded silky red gown and matching cap in his lap.

He has resolved to sit there until he got home, but with daylight approaching and a busy day ahead of him, he is almost ready to give up and go to bed. As he is about to stand, he thinks he hears a key in the door, so he stays. When the door doesn't open a few minutes later, he hangs his head, bitterly disappointed. His long fingers lift the robe and cap up carefully, placing them on the table. Exhaustion hits him as he pulls back the covers and climbs into his bed, realising too late he is still in his jeans. But he's too tired, too tired to change or to turn off the damn light which should annoy him more than it does. He lies on his side, the blankets covering him even though it's summer and it's swelteringly warm. Wrapping himself up like a burrito is as comforting as it's always been, so he stays under the too thick covers. Sweat covers his forehead and his shaggy hair sticks to his skin as he drifts off to sleep, the disappointment still sitting like a brick in the pit of his stomach.

It is nearing six when the door does finally open and John Winchester steps into the motel room for the first time in three weeks. He puts his bag down on the floor gently, not wanting to wake his sons just yet and makes his way further into the room. He stops at the table, struck dumb by the sight of the cap and gown.

"It's graduation day," Dean says softly, sitting up in his bed.

Sam remains asleep, still cocooned in the stifling covers. John looks up at his oldest son, seeing the pleading in his eyes. He should have known. It's the reason they'd been in the same damn town for so long. It was the reason he'd been taking jobs in the surrounding states and leaving Sam (and sometimes Dean) while he dealt with some of the evil plaguing the world. He hadn't wanted to do it, but if he hadn't Sam wouldn't have graduated high school and at the time he'd thought that might just kill the kid and it was one of the last normal experiences John had left to give and goddammit part of him had wanted to give it so badly.

But that was then. And this is now. And right now, John's tired from a hunt that was far more difficult than it should have been and all he can think about it curling up on the couch and catching some shut eye before packing the boys off and heading down to Louisiana, where he's caught wind of what he thinks might be a couple of witches causing a helluva lot of trouble for some locals. But, like Dean just said, it's graduation day and goddammit that part of John that wanted to give Sammy just one normal experience is speaking up again. It's the part of him that remembers life before all of this, before the hunting and the grieving and the burning need in his aching, shattered heart for vengeance.

It's the part of him that fell in love with Mary Campbell back in Lawrence when she was just a fantasy and he was just a mechanic. It's the part of him that wept when Dean was born and he held his precious baby boy in his arms for the first time. It's the part of him that went into the shop each week with a new photo of Dean and a story to tell. It's the part of him that can still remember Mary, rolling her eyes and telling John to get the camera out of her face as she tried to rock a fussing Dean to sleep that very first night. It's the part of him that was there for all of Dean's first four birthdays, helping him unwrap his presents and blow the candles out and scraping Mary's undercooked birthday cake into the bin and taking everyone out for ice cream (for Dean's third and fourth birthdays at least). It's the part of him that remembers those first four Christmases after Dean was born, putting out cookies for Santa even when he was too young to know and decorating the tree with Mary, throwing tinsel at her when she wasn't looking and blaming it on the sleeping newborn and later mischievous toddler, who spent more time taking decorations off the tree than putting them on. It's the part of him that remembers holding a newborn Sam in his arms, soothing his cries with promises he'd always intended to keep but never got the chance to act on. It's the part of him that started now empty college funds for both of his sons and did his damned best to add to them each month. It's the part of him that sat by Sam's crib for seventy two hours after Dean got chicken pox to make sure the month old baby didn't catch it. It's the part of him that lay in bed one night, not long after Sam was born, and made whispered plans with Mary for another child, a little girl, the perfect end to their perfect little family. He remembered that night with near perfect clarity, the way he'd looked into her blue eyes in the dark, so full of promises for the future. And then when they were done planning, he rolled onto his back and fell asleep, his dreams full of images of two boys, twelve and eight, picking up a little girl, six, when she fell from her bike, while their parents watched from the porch.

It's the part of John that hadn't known grief or fear or life on the road; the part of him that carried those experiences every day but never let his thoughts linger on them too long, lest his heart become heavier with the grief he felt at the loss of not only Mary but his family's future. It's the part of John he had spent over eighteen damn years trying to forget. Unsuccessfully, it seemed.

That part of him is screaming now, awoken from the self-induced dormancy it had been in. It reminds him of the things he and Mary had spoken about at night when she had been pregnant with both boys, and after they'd been born. Of preschool and learning to read and write and sports and first jobs and parties and first girlfriends and learning to drive and yes, high school graduations. He had wanted to see this, wanted to see his boys handed the diplomas that symbolised that they were all grown up now. He had wanted all of it for his sons. That part of him is screaming, pleading for him not to be the bastard he knows he can be, to be the good guy for once in his pathetic life and goddammit he's listening.

"What time?" he asks finally, looking back down at the gown.

"Noon," Dean blinks, the tension leaving his body all at once, the fight he hadn't realised he was prepared for not necessary after all.

"Wake me for breakfast," John tears his eyes from the gown and moves towards the couch, "We should probably get some pictures or something before we leave. And I'll have to figure out a gift of some sort..."

"I can pick somethin' up from the both of us once the mall opens," Dean replies, trying to keep the astonishment from his colouring both his face and tone.

John nods gruffly, laying back against the couch. He closes his eyes but sleep doesn't come easily. And even when it finally does come, the heavy feeling in his heart remains.

"Rise and shine Sammy," Dean says, shaking Sam's shoulder to wake him, "Big day today."

Sam's first thought is that it's hot. Too hot. He shoots up in bed, pushing the covers off his sweat slicked body. But then he remembers that he fell asleep in his clothes and that pushing the covers off won't help all that much.

"You feelin' sick or somethin'?" Dean asks, placing a head to Sam's forehead.

"'m fine," Sam mumbles, pushing Dean's hand away.

And then he notices John on the couch.

"When'd Dad get home?"

"Coupl'a hours ago."

"Right," Sam shakes his head, heading for the bathroom.

Dean busies himself by going across the street to pick up breakfast while Sam showers. He wakes his Dad and clears Sam's robes from the table so they can eat together. Sam is visibly surprised but pleased when John brings up graduation, asking where he and Dean can sit, what time the ceremony should end and where Sam wants to go for dinner afterwards.

After breakfast, Sam changes into his suit, cranking the AC so he doesn't sweat through his shirt (his jacket is hanging on the back of a chair with his robes because it's too damn hot for layers). John tries not to notice that he's never seen that particular suit before, let alone seen Sam so dressed up. Dean and John dress in jeans, though both don button up shirts (of the non-plaid variety) in an attempt to dress up a little. Dean of course, accompanies his with his worn leather jacket, arguing with John that it's not him who's graduating. Sam just smiles because Dean's still dressed up for him and his Dad's showing he cares by going to so much effort.

At 11, Sam dons his jacket and robe, leaving the cap off his shaggy hair, which is making his forehead hot enough as it is. The three Winchesters pile into the Impala, Sam uncharacteristically taking the front seat as the guest of honour. At the school, John snaps some pictures of Sam and Dean together on the disposable camera Dean bought when he picked up a present for Sam (which was wrapped and sitting at the bottom of John's bag when he woke). Then he has Dean snap a couple of him and Sam. They manage to find another parent to take a picture of all three of them and they all smile, each trying not to think about the fact that there is someone missing.

And then it's time for Sam to join the rest of his classmates. Dean wishes him luck and tells him not to trip, Sam retaliates by asking that they both remain seating and refrain from catcalling or whistling when his name is called. Dean makes no promises. And then Sam is gone and John and Dean are heading into the school gym, trying to find two seats reasonably close to the front. John feels underdressed and out of place among these parents, who all seem to know each other and talk about how it was "just yesterday" they're babies were babies and now they're graduating. It wasn't just yesterday for John that Sam was a baby, it feels like a lifetime ago.

But before he has time to dwell on that the music begins and in walks the graduating class of 2001 enters. Dean winks at Sam as he walks past them and John tries to forget about the fact that Dean never did this, that he never got to see Dean graduate.

Dean tries not to think about it either. He's never cared before so why would he know. School was never his thing and he chose not to graduate and he's pretty damn sure that even if Mom hadn't died and he'd had a different life he still would've chosen not to graduate because aside from introducing him to chicks school was a pretty crappy, useless place to be. He's glad he never graduated. If he'd spent one more day stuck in those suffocating four walls, pretending he cared about algebra and English and test scores and essay questions he would have gone insane. Good riddance.

The ceremony is long and boring. First the principal speaks, then the valedictorian. Both John and Dean are acutely aware of the fact that if Sam had been allowed to stay in one place for more than five minutes, that probably would have been him standing up there, giving that speech. He'd have probably done a better job too. The nerdy kid up there is so damn nervous he's sweating and stuttering and suddenly Dean remembers Sam saying a couple of days ago that the first choice for valedictorian, a typical overachiever with perfect grades, headed to Harvard in the fall on a scholarship, had fallen sick or something and would be unable to give the speech. Dean's not sure what would have been worse; an undoubtedly cliched speech given by a pompous brainiac concluded with a speech from some pompous dead guy (probably a president), or this stuttered speech, poorly written and clearly unrehearsed, rambling about moments the senior class of 2001 will "never forget".

Finally, someone begins clapping, putting the kid out of his misery. With shaking hands, he makes his way back to his chair and the principal returns to the stand. A junior (undoubtedly next year's choice for valedictorian) stands beside him, holding a tray of rolled up diplomas. They begin at the As and John and Dean zone out, knowing there's a hell of a lot of kids to get through before they get to Sam. Parents clap and cheer, obviously cheering on not only their own kids but those of their friends too.

"Sam Winchester."

The gym falls silent as Sam stands and makes his way to the stage. No one knows Sam; he's only been at the school a couple of months, not nearly long enough in senior year to have made any real friends or met any of the parents. John and Dean stand clapping and cheering loudly, more than enough to fill the silence left by the other parents, who all clap politely. Pride swells in both John and Dean as Sam shakes the principal's hand and receives his diploma. His cheeks are flushed red as he leaves the stage and heads back to his seat. He sends his family a glare, but it's ruined by the ecstatic smile on his face. None of them ever thought this day would come.

There aren't many students after Sam and soon the principal is giving his closing address. John taps his foot impatiently, ready to leave. Finally, the audience is invited to give one final round of applause for the graduating class, who throw their hats in the air in celebration. John and Dean stand, following the audience outside. The area is filled with graduates embracing their families and talking to one another excitedly. Teachers are making their way around, expressing congratulations.

"Dad!" Sam calls, making his way over to his family, the grin still present on his face, "Dean!"

Dean hugs Sam before John can, teasing him for looking like a big geek in his gown and cap, which has found its way back to his head. Sam shoves him playfully, careful not to scrunch his certificate, before turning to John. John wants to hug Sam, to tell him how goddamn proud he is, but before he can Sam starts speaking.

"Dad, there's a party on for all the graduates tonight. Can I go?" he asks hopefully, though part of him is preparing to be told no.

John can see the hope in his eyes and he's still being ruled by that other, foreign part of him. He wants to say yes. He wants Sam to have the full graduation experience. What's one more day?

But, as seems to be the recurring theme at this moment, before he can say anything, Sam is being clapped on the back by a teacher.

"Congratulations Sam."

"Thanks," Sam smiles, "Uh, Mr. Miller this is my Dad and my brother Dean."

"Robert Miller," the teacher introduces himself, shaking John's hand, "I taught your son English."

"John Winchester."

"You must be so proud of Sam. Getting accepted to Stanford. And offered a full scholarship too."

And just like that, John's world fractured. College. He was pulled back to reality, that other part of him locked firmly away. College. Not even in his worst nightmares had he considered that Sam would even consider applying to college, let alone go...

Sam's eyes are wide as he watches Dean go pale and his Dad's smile fade. Of all the scenarios that went through his head for today, this hadn't even been a possibility. Suddenly he feels sick.

"Yes," John recovers, a tight smile on his face, "Very proud. If you'll excuse us, we've actually got dinner plans with Sam's grandparents to make."

"Of course. Congratulations again, Sam. And best of luck at Stanford."

John turns, leading both Sam and Dean back to the Impala before anyone else can try to make conversation with them. The drive home is silent and filled with tension. Sam sits in the back this time, looking down at his diploma. John grips the steering wheel tight, fuming silently. Dean looks out the window, pale.

John waits until they are in the motel room to explode at Sam. He doesn't mean to, but all of a sudden he just starts yelling.

"When were you going to tell me about this Sam? How did it even happen?"

Sam is quiet first, remorseful.

"I didn't think I would get the scholarship."

But then John keeps yelling. The words slip out of his own accord, "ungrateful", "foolish", "bastard". He doesn't know why. He's not even that angry, just scared that he won't be able to protect Sam if he goes. He's so scared he can't even see straight, but he's been scared for years and anger's the only way he knows how to hide that. And it's not just about Sam not telling them, it's about him wanting to leave.

Unable to hold his temper, Sam starts yelling back, calling his Dad a "controlling and manipulative asshole". And suddenly, it's not even about Stanford. It's about Sam never being fully committed to hunting, to the family and about John holding Sam back from having a normal life. It's about Sam being disobedient and disloyal and John being a bad father. And before Sam really realises what he's doing, he's changing into jeans and a shirt and packing his suit up with the rest of his clothes into his duffel bag. And John's face is turning redder and redder and Dean's standing between them begging them to stop, begging Sam to stop packing and both of them to stop screaming so they can talk about this.

But it's too late. Sam's slinging the bag onto his shoulder and telling John that they can talk about this in a few days, once he's had the opportunity to calm down and until then he'll be staying in his own room.

"Don't bother," John spits, and the words come tumbling out before he realises what they mean, "If you're gonna go, go. But don't come crawling back to me when it all falls apart."

Sam flinches visibly and for a minute, he thinks it may have worked, that Sam may stay. But then he turns and he walks out the door, slamming it shut and all John feels is regret. Dean storms into the bathroom, slamming that door shut and running the faucet to mask the sounds of the sobs John knows he will be crying. John collapses into one of the chairs, pulling Sam's graduation present from his pocket. He fingers the carefully taped wrapping, suddenly realising that he hadn't even gotten to hug Sam or tell him how proud he was before everything fell apart.